Just Band Camp
by DreamaLirit
Summary: If the only encounter you ever had with someone was at band camp, what all could follow?
1. Chapter 1

There's something about music that speaks to the soul. It fills you with feelings and can make you happy or sad; want to conquer the world or sit and ponder what's coming next. Music truly is a language that crosses all barriers and lets you speak to anyone- it's almost like magic, but different.

Maybe that's why I liked it so much, growing up. I was kind of awkward my whole life, and although I had friends, books were usually better than people. When band became an option in middle school, I began learning the trumpet, and although it helped me meet people, it also let me focus and spend hours in my room perfecting my new skill. I got a private teacher, and whereas books had been my best friend, now music was. Of course, now I also had real friends to actually hang out with- the trumpet section was full of loud, rambunctious, funny people who I normally would never have known.

When high school came around I joined the marching band, and actually developed something of a social life. I went to football games (to perform, of course) and when several trumpets got together, we practiced _some_ (but there was usually food and fun involved). I lived in Jule, Tennessee, attending Jule Alair High School (named after the town's founder). The only downside was that I had committed the unforgivable sin of being an Alabama fan. Mr. Edsel (the band director) was a staunch Tennessee Volunteers fan, and heaven forbid you walk into his office wearing any other teams' colours. Once I wore an Alabama shirt to school and walked in with a question about the music, and he pointed right at my shirt with a glare and said, "What on earth are you wearing?" Needless to say, he wasn't happy about it.

We went to band camp every year I was in the band. Cumberland University was a small university, but one of its majors was the arts-both visual and performing. It was about 100 miles from Jule, offering us a small vacation from our parents and an entertaining time. We showed up Sunday and left Saturday, stayed in some dorms on campus, ate in the cafeteria, marched on their soccer field (we spray painted hashes), and had sectionals in their classrooms. It was great, and every night we had an activity- Sunday was orientation (yawn) Monday was the senior party (whichever theme they picked, followed by a nice, welcome-to-band-camp prank) Tuesday was the male beauty contest (yikes), Wednesday was the talent show, Thursday was a pizza party(you're almost finished) and Friday was the dance. Saturday morning we performed, and then went back home.

Our sectional teacher was easily the best while we were there. His name was Scott Calder, and he'd marched at the University of Tennessee and was a band director at a middle school in another county. We all called him Scott, and routinely shouted his name, poked fun at him, and other things you'd expect trumpets to do. Although I was never the ring leader, I usually ended up getting pulled into it, and the punishment (usually just a scolding) was always worth the fun we had doing whatever mischief it was.

Then I graduated. I got accepted into the college of my dreams- the University of Alabama. My major was music therapy. I always loved music and knew it had a powerful effect on people, and so the idea that music could help people recover from injuries and help get well was perfect for me.

I had an apartment off campus- that way I could own a car and could avoid awkward dorm mates and scary sororities. My parents helped me move in, and once they left, I got my first real taste of freedom. That first night, I Skyped with a few of the trumpet players, who were now at Tennessee. They were dorm mates and had decked out the entire room in orange, which I loathed but they loved. My own apartment was furnished with stuff from Ikea, and they didn't find that nearly as impressive. But I had privacy and my own kitchen.

The Million Dollar Band accepted me into their trumpet section, and I began marching with them. The section was all boys and had about 35 members. It was a huge scandal that I made it at all, and an even larger one that I tested into the highest concert band on campus and made first chair, beating the section leader (he was second). Talent aside, most people were pretty nice to me and I made more friends. The drum majors regarded me as a prodigy, as did Dr. Ozzello. It was nice, but they kept high expectations of me, and if I couldn't play something near perfect the first time, their lips always turned down a little.

That summer was also the year Scott left. He moved to take care of his mother, and Mr. Edsel called me up. The position was open; I would be paid a pretty nice sum of cash, and get to instruct band camp. I was 19, and although I had some concerns about the seniors respecting me, they knew me. Last year I had marched with them, and hopefully, that would mean they would listen and we could all have fun together, like old times, only a little different.

All the instructors showed up at Cumberland Sunday afternoon, while the students wouldn't show up until five. We sat around one of the lounges, talking about our summers so far, how college had been, and so forth. One of the girls I knew, Danielle, was also back helping with the bass clarinets. She tossed her hair with an evil glint in her eye.

"So what's the University of Being-A-Traitor like?" She, like most of band, was Volunteers fans. I laughed, like she'd intended, and answered despite the insult.

"Alabama is pretty nice. The band is awesome, although I am the only girl in the trumpet section." She stared at me.

"Seriously, the only girl? I pity you; at least there are two of us at Tennessee. Although, being girls, I think they enjoyed initiation more..." At the mention of 'initiation', every ear cocked to our conversation. Initiation was a big deal in college bands. You do something embarrassing or unseemly and your section or the band accepts you. If you refuse, you're an outcast for the year and most likely encouraged not to come back. Just at the thought, my cheeks turned red.

"What was initiation for you?" She tossed her hair again, a habit when she was planning something, nervous, or just acting unnatural. Whatever it was, it couldn't be as bad as mine. The bass clarinets were a small section, so whatever they did, they would want their members returning and would encourage participation.

"We had to eat some dog food. It was pretty gross, but we didn't have to eat too much so it was horribly awful. And after we did it they forgot it ever happened and we all went on with our lives. I pity the rookies, but I'm sure they'll get over it. What was initiation for you?" My eyes focused on the carpet, catching the pattern. I noticed the stain of Coca-Cola, where a piece of furniture had been moved. Tension swooped in as I took longer and longer to answer. She gave off a nervous laugh. "Come on, what was initiation?" I bit my lip.

"Well, I mentioned how I was the only girl in the section..." She laughed just a little bit and tossed her hair, scooting closer to me.

"That's not answering my question. Cough it up, we're all friends." I raised my eyes and realized that the instructors, who had been here when I was a student, and Mr. Edsel, were not looking at me to tell for a good laugh. They had concern written in their faces, more concerned about hazing and my well-being. This couldn't be pretty.

So I squeezed my eyes shut and forced it out of my mouth. "They make everybody strip." The small smile wiped off her face, and Mr. Edsel rose from his chair and strode across the room toward my seat on the floor. My eyes opened to stare at my shoes, too ashamed and embarrassed to look at anyone's faces.

"Megan, tell me they didn't make you do that." My arms locked around my knees, my head stayed facing the ground, and it was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Tension was thick in the air, and my face was as red as a tomato. "Megan—"

"Can we not talk about it?" He finally seemed to notice all the other people in the room, the people obviously staring at us. He pulled me up by my arm and hauled me out the door, and as the door closed behind us, the conversation turned to the weather.

Once we were outside, his eyes bored into my skull, and I knew he wouldn't repeat the question. I focused on a line of ants, carrying bits of a discarded potato chip to their ant hole a few feet away. Without lifting my eyes, I answered.

"Yes, it happened." He slapped a hand over his mouth before a swear could slip out and ran his fingers through his hair. This was the inevitable explosion.

"I can't believe they did that to you! I'm calling Dr. Ozzello; this has got to be reported." He paused for just a moment, and when I opened my mouth to protest, he spoke again. "Please tell me they didn't do anything besides look. Tell me they didn't...they didn't touch you." The blush I had thought was going away came back with just as much ferocity.

"God no! And you can't tell Dr. Ozzello, or we could end up going to court or even losing the band. We're the University of Alabama, and a few incidents aside, we don't have scandals. This doesn't happen to us. Please don't tell anyone, this really is all fine. It only happened once, and it won't happen again. It's just initiation; it's the thing that happens. The boys have never voices a single complaint, and it's just like what the fraternities and sororities do." He sighed again, having realized the consequences of trying to do the right thing. It was true- besides some issues with a few coaches and the football team; we didn't really have problems at the school. Out of most scandals that could happen- like the sex scandal at Penn State, or the resignation of President Hoffmann at the University of Colorado, a few qualms in our football team could be easily overlooked. And Mr. Edsel knew that.

"You're right; I can't report it without risking the band program. But I hate to think about that happening to you- or any of the other freshmen." I shrugged and focused on getting a small piece of gum off of my shoe.

"I have no power over it. Now can we not talk about this again- the students should be arriving in about half an hour and you know they'll be some kids showing up early." He nodded and clapped his hand on my shoulder as we went back inside.

Thankfully the conversation had shifted to what had happened over the summer, and Danielle was chattering excitedly about her trip to Missouri. She couldn't even finish before we saw the first car pull up, and we all grinned at each other. The chaperones filed out from a room down the hall where they were having a pre-band camp meeting, and we began helping unload. After the first car, there was another, and then the floodgates slowly opened. Other students helped their friends, and we all became the dam to help control the flood.

The instructors at band camp stayed in the dorms as well. They had five floors, and the students were split up by grade, while the instructors had the first floor (seniors had second, juniors third, and so forth). It meant they knew where our rooms were, and sometimes we were subject to pranking, but no one knew which instructor was in each room (unlike the students, we didn't put names on the door). We also didn't have a Boys Hall and a Girls Hall. If Mr. Edsel trusted and respected you enough to let you come back and instruct band camp, he trusted that if your room connected to someone's of a different gender, nothing was going to happen. Of course what you do at night _is_ your business, but we were at band camp and most of the same rules applied for instructors/chaperones as they did for students. No smoking, no alcohol, and no PDA (public display of affection). It didn't matter what age you were.

Orientation started that night at seven. All of the instructors (aren't we cool) got to sit down on the stage as Mr. Edsel (who insisted we call him Chris or Christopher) say hello to everyone, welcome them, and let them listen to the show all the way through. Then he introduced the chaperones (who stated the rules by acting out a skit) and introduced all of us. As soon as he got to me and said I attended the University of Alabama, there was a huge sound of protest from the crowd. We _were _in Tennessee, and I laughed as he hushed them up and said just this once, it would a forgivable sin. After we were done there, most of us took an early night, storing up as much sleep as we could for the week.

Monday we all started out with coffee. The students technically weren't supposed to have any (for every cup of coffee, you have to have two cups of water), but the instructors weren't marching or anything. So while they all held attention and waded through lines, we got our breakfast first and chatted.

We started morning block at nine. The rookies had learned how to march at pre-band camp the previous week, and now they were putting their skills to use. The show theme this year was 'Reflections' with three pieces on reflections of form, light, and sound. Together it was a little more than seven minutes and had 57 total sets, a Grade 5 show. We started off learning how to read drill charts and then setting, and we got five pages on before lunch at noon.

Lunch came before two hours of sectionals. It felt off to be in charge of it- I had always been _in_ one, not running it. But I tried to remember what I had observed from Scott and people who came to work at Bama. The freshman had no idea who I was, and the sophomores barely remembered me. The juniors and seniors, however, gave off a mixed feeling of being happy to have me back and slightly hostile that I was replacing Scott and so young. After all, I had just marched with then last year and was barely into college (at a rival school!). Could I really know that much more than them?

After getting them under control and introducing myself, I did manage to teach them a few things. The underclassmen listened pretty well, and those were the ones who needed a little more guidance anyway. Hopefully it would get better as the week went on.

Free time was for two hours after that. I stayed to practice the show music-there was some complicated notes, and I wanted to be able to play it perfectly for the section when it came time. I wouldn't be a hypocritical teacher, asking them to play something I couldn't. So I sat and practiced for a little while.

Then I heard a timid knock on the door. I would never have known a soul was there until I heard that knock, and once I stopped playing, a girl slipped through the door.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted something." I shook my head and she continued. "Mr. Edsel said you might be willing to help me with my concerto audition." She clutched her trumpet case with both hands, awkward and nervous.

"You're auditioning for a concerto? That's pretty impressive, but you weren't in my sectional just now." To be successful enough to audition for a concerto, when you're all alone on the stage playing a piece by Mozart, usually meant you'd been playing the instrument for a very long time. Most people also marched their first instrument, which was the one they were most talented on and most comfortable. Even though I'd learned French horn, I only ever marched trumpet, and it had always been my favourite.

"Trumpet is my first, but I march saxophone. I like the saxes as a section just a little bit better than the trumpets." That was understandable. The trumpet could be played by anyone, but the trumpet _section_ was definitely not for everyone.

"Of course I'd be willing to help you. Which concerto is it?" Her eyes shined at my agreement, and she pulled up a chair and a music stand. The music she placed on the stand on was Trumpet Concerto in D Major. She began taking out and assembling her trumpet as she filled me in.

"I've been working on it by myself, and with my teacher, but he takes July off and we only just got it in June, so I'd like some more insight. Auditions are in December and the performance is in April." I nodded, reviewing the music set before me and remembering when I had memorized this exact same concerto just this year. This girl certainly had her work cut out for her. Wait, this girl?

"We didn't have a proper introduction. I'm Megan." She smiled, a smile that was warm and happy and lit her entire face. She pressed down and oiled her valves.

"I'm Elizabeth. Mr. Edsel said you're extremely talented." I turned away at the compliment, suddenly a little shy, and pulled out some scales. We both had them memorized, but it signaled for practice to start. And I wasn't used to flattery and adoration, especially not from someone so close to my age that looked at me as if I held the keys to a magical, music-filled kingdom. Yet I'd only known her for a few minutes, the quite seriousness that overcame her when she saw the scales and the look in her eyes when she began playing the music, made me think that she was like a sponge. Anything I told her, any pointers or advice, would be filed away in her mind so that she could be perfect. She already had discipline and talent, and perfection was what every musician strived for. I told her she had potential, and she just looked at her shoes and thanked me for my time and energy. The show music didn't need _that_ much practice anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday night was the senior party and prank, and every year the instructors cringed because they worried about being victims along with the students. The party theme this year was a luau, but only the seniors themselves knew what the prank was. When I was a senior we'd had Casino theme, and for our prank we had filled the staircase and elevator with foam packing peanuts. Anyone who left their door unlocked got a shower and toilet full of them too, but we didn't dare even consider the instructor's hallway. But of course each year was different seniors, and some were more daring than others. My freshman year, they _had_ dared to smear Vaseline along all the instructors' doorknobs, and sink handles if they left the door open. Tuesday morning was not a pretty sight for them, and that began the tradition of the seniors having the clean up whatever they did as the prank.

The prank turned out to be Saran wrap on anything left out in the hallways, and spelling things with blue painters tape on the walls. The instructors hallways was clean, but the elevators had blue tape writing inside them, doors were Saran wrapped over (with scissors taped to them, of course, because that's a fire hazard) and any water bottles, shoes, or instruments left out were taped/wrapped to the ceiling, walls, windows, or each other. It was actually pretty brilliant, although a piccolo got taped to the ceiling which made the flute instructor pretty upset. However, it was all fun and games, and no one got too angry.

We set more drill and learned more music. The instructors sat together at the meals again, and then free time came around.

I didn't know if Elizabeth would show up again, but I was pretty sure she would. You don't normally ask for just one day of help, so when she knocked on the door again, I knew it was her. We practiced, and as we were packing me up, she started asking questions.

"You're going to be a sophomore in college, right?" I'd been polishing my trumpet, as I did whenever I put it up. It was a silver plated Yamaha, and the closest thing I had to a pet or child. She stayed tuned, polished, and oiled.

"Yeah, I am, at the University of Alabama. What grade are you going into?" Her watch beeped, indicating we had twenty minutes until dinner. Free time was two hours, and we'd spent most of it working on her concerto.

"I'm going to be a junior." I nodded. When did she shower, I couldn't help but wonder. If she practiced like this during her free time, did she do it at night, and sleep with her hair wet? Maybe she brought a blow dryer. But for as much as I practiced, at band camp I at least showered during my free time.

"Your parents must be worried; they're baby's growing up. Are they driving over on Saturday, because I'd love to brag to them about you." She looked at her feet, her trumpet put away and resting on her thighs.

"Um, no, my mom doesn't come. We don't finish the show at camp, and she has work and all." I didn't ask about her father. Not having one myself, I knew better than to pry about parents. If the information was open, then she'd say it eventually. So I just nodded.

"Yeah, my mother never actually drove me to camp, but she tried to come pick me up. My sophomore year she just couldn't swing it either." She just bit her lip and stared at the ground, then very suddenly fixed me with a dead serious gaze.

"If I can ask, what happened to your father?" I blinked, the look in her eyes so intense, yet not wanting to make me uncomfortable. After all, I barely knew the girl.

"He died in a car accident when I was seven. What happened to yours?" I could almost watch the shutters fold over the iris, pushing me out of the dark corners of her life which I had no business to be in. She stood up and shook her head a little bit, the braid moving ever so slightly. There was a short pause, before she spoke in a light layer of grief.

"He killed himself when I was twelve." My jaw didn't drop, but it took visible effort to hold it in place and not make a noise. Her flash as they meet mine, daring me to say something. The difference in her is startling.

"I'm sorry, that must have been so difficult." I can't say it was awful or sad, because it's so obvious that it was. Of course it's just as obvious that a situation like that would be difficult. There's really nothing I can say to make it better, to make past, current, and future pains go away. We both lost our fathers, but the effects were clearly different.

"It was. But if you don't mind, let's not talk about it." Her watch beeped again, indicating ten minutes until dinner. "I have to go get my sax." And she was gone, out of the room before I could say anything else.

Tuesday night was the male beauty contest. It was only for instructors and chaperones, and usually had three female judges. When I was a student, I thought it was hilarious, and according to the trumpets I now instructed, they still did. Our judges that night were the Color Guard Coach, a female chaperone, and the female drum major. Several male chaperones were contestants, along with the Batterie instructor, the trombone instructor, and (as was tradition), Mr. Edsel.

For the four years I had been there, Mr. Edsel had never won. Usually it was a new, good looking chaperone or occasionally an instructor who came away with the prize, but I was waiting for the day our 36 year old band director finally stole the show.

There was a talent portion of the contest- which could include singing, playing instrument(s), or any other wacky talent someone happened to have. Then they would walk across the stage shirtless, flexing a muscle here or there. It could get pretty silly and was always entertaining. That night, the Batterie instructor won- he had a six pack and played tenors upside down as his talent. As an award he got a laminated certificate proclaiming him most beautiful man at band camp. A chaperone and the trombone instructor were runner-ups, and you could say we had our own Mr. Band Camp coming along.

Wednesday was always the worst day of the week. Everyone was tired, we'd been working hard for two days and still had the rest of the week to go; some people were sunburned or had blisters; such-and-such hadn't slept well. The list of complaints could go on for forever, and the trumpets were a little lazy at practice. I tried not to get on them too harshly, because after all, I'd just been in their shoes and remembered all too vividly what it had been like. But the band couldn't survive with any lazy sections, so I tried to keep them motivated without making them hate me. Sectionals were difficult too- as much as I tried to keep the ball rolling, warm ups were slow, tuning was slower, the remembering what we'd rehearsed earlier in the week and working on more felt impossible. They were tired, looking forward to what felt like an eternity of rising too early and falling asleep too late, of uncomfortable beds and difficult rehearsals morning, noon, and night. We didn't accomplish much, but I couldn't force knowledge into their skulls.

Elizabeth still came, dark rings under eyes, but ready to work. She was pushing through, which is what I wish the trumpets had made themselves do. There had been a few people who had really wanted to work and get stuff done, but besides that, the apathy of the group was overwhelming. She felt fresh-tired, but willing to work, a lot like me.

That night was the talent show. It was always interesting to see, although some years it lacked variety-more singers, more musicians playing their second instrument, or something like that. This year the coordinator had promised they had some different acts and had arranged it so there wouldn't be a lot of one thing in a row. It wasn't that we didn't like singing, but seeing it five times in a row could get a little old.

Apparently, there was a sousaphone that could juggle- and not just juggle anything, he juggled knives and fire. Several people got together and made up a funny skit about the different age groups in the band; one girl could tap dance; twins did a piano duet; and of course there were singers. The judges sure had their hands full with who to crown as the winner. To my surprise, as the closing act, Elizabeth got on stage and danced.

It was a solo piece to Titanium by David Guetta. The style was ballet, but not traditional ballet- she wore point shoes, but mixed in some more modern pieces that, because I wasn't a dancer, I couldn't identify. She got some cheers at the end, did a curtsey, and closed it out. The juggler got first prize, a singer second, and the piano duet third. No one looked disappointed to not win- you don't enter the band camp talent show to win anything.

Friday made the seniors sad. No one cried (yet), but they talked about back when they were freshmen, how they felt old and about college. Names from everywhere were thrown around- UT, TTU, TSU, BU, and more. No one mentioned Tennessee's big rivals like LSU or UA. There were a few members of the band who liked them, but they were few and far between.

Just as sad as the seniors were, the freshmen were excited about surviving their first band camp. That night was the dance, a celebration of sorts, and they were getting ready to party. Instructors were required to show up, which I dreaded. My nerdy high school days had made the dance awkward and uncomfortable, and I'd always left at the first possible chance. Now I was being forced to go back, but at least I wouldn't be expected to be out among the throng- I could stand in the back with the other adults and be normal. Of course, some of the other college students went to parties on their campus', knew how to dance, and would be right along with the students. Danielle was one of them, and she was part of a huge sorority that prided itself on keeping their grades up to par and still having very active social lives. Not that people at UA didn't party, they most definitely did, but I wasn't one of them. I had my own apartment off campus by myself, and although I sometimes hosted sectionals or had friends over, I never hosted or went to parties.

At sectionals we got off on a tangent, first about the seniors leaving, then about college, then about my personal experiences at college, etc. We worked on some of the music, and they were pretty good about memorizing it, but we didn't work the whole time. Their attention spans were waning, band camp was almost over, and they were almost free. Any distractions they could lead me into, they would gladly create.

Elizabeth showed up, and we worked on her concerto. She'd made considerable improvement since Monday, but she still had a long way to go. I complimented her on her performance in the talent show, and we also started talking about what we did besides band. She taught me a little about dance, and I explained what Music Therapy was. However, even though she was in dance, she didn't like the band camp dance any more than I did. She found it just as awkward, and was a bit of a loner herself. Plus, who wanted to watch people grind in the center of the room where chaperones couldn't see anyway?

We also talked about boys. She was a junior, and although she'd gone to dances with guys as friends, they had never turned into anything more. I didn't even have that- I'd never gone on a date in high school, had gone to dances with girlfriends or groups. Even now that I was in college, I was more focused on that than anything else. Just because I was surrounded by testosterone pumped guys all the time in my section didn't mean they were the type of guy I wanted to date.

The dance was okay- they played some group dance songs like the Cupid Shuffle, some pop, rap, and other genres. Most people had fun, talking, dancing, and laughing until about 11 that night. I left earlier, around 10, so I could actually get a decent night's sleep before the performance the next day.

Saturday was when the seniors cried. The trumpets tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but a few of them shed a tear. After all, it was their last band camp with any of these people, their last chance to make memories as a member of the Jule Alair High School Band. I'd cried at my past band camp-no one cried too heavily, but usually tissues were needed. Mr. Edsel had never cried, as far as I was aware, but when he retired one day we all imagined he probably would.

He introduced us all to the parents as the students stood quietly in opening set. The trumpets chanted my name when I was announced, which made my grin a little wider as I waved. By the end of the week, most of them had accepted me, and we were all happy to see Scott in the crowd of onlookers. He was going to get mauled by us all at the end of this.

The performance was okay. Everyone had worked really hard, memorized music and practiced drill until they were exhausted. Still, though, it wasn't perfect, and that was what the rehearsals at school were for. The show wasn't done either, but it would be done and perfect before competition. Out of the three competitions we went to every year, we usually came away as champions of at least one. My senior year we'd won all three, which was a huge cause for celebration that no one would forget anytime soon.

That afternoon we all left. I was driving home to Alabama, which could take up to five hours with traffic. Tuscaloosa seemed emptier without the college kids running around everywhere. My apartment was nice to come back to after the heat of Tennessee, even though it was still hot down here. However, my bed was actually comfortable, and I was doing some extra work over the summer for some of my teachers, and would be able to continue on it now that I was back.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday night was the senior party and prank, and every year the instructors cringed because they worried about being victims along with the students. The party theme this year was a luau, but only the seniors themselves knew what the prank was. When I was a senior we'd had Casino theme, and for our prank we had filled the staircase and elevator with foam packing peanuts. Anyone who left their door unlocked got a shower and toilet full of them too, but we didn't dare even consider the instructor's hallway. But of course each year was different seniors, and some were more daring than others. My freshman year, they _had_ dared to smear Vaseline along all the instructors' doorknobs, and sink handles if they left the door open. Tuesday morning was not a pretty sight for them, and that began the tradition of the seniors having the clean up whatever they did as the prank.

The prank turned out to be Saran wrap on anything left out in the hallways, and spelling things with blue painters tape on the walls. The instructors hallways was clean, but the elevators had blue tape writing inside them, doors were Saran wrapped over (with scissors taped to them, of course, because that's a fire hazard) and any water bottles, shoes, or instruments left out were taped/wrapped to the ceiling, walls, windows, or each other. It was actually pretty brilliant, although a piccolo got taped to the ceiling which made the flute instructor pretty upset. However, it was all fun and games, and no one got too angry.

We set more drill and learned more music. The instructors sat together at the meals again, and then free time came around.

I didn't know if Elizabeth would show up again, but I was pretty sure she would. You don't normally ask for just one day of help, so when she knocked on the door again, I knew it was her. We practiced, and as we were packing me up, she started asking questions.

"You're going to be a sophomore in college, right?" I'd been polishing my trumpet, as I did whenever I put it up. It was a silver plated Yamaha, and the closest thing I had to a pet or child. She stayed tuned, polished, and oiled.

"Yeah, I am, at the University of Alabama. What grade are you going into?" Her watch beeped, indicating we had twenty minutes until dinner. Free time was two hours, and we'd spent most of it working on her concerto.

"I'm going to be a junior." I nodded. When did she shower, I couldn't help but wonder. If she practiced like this during her free time, did she do it at night, and sleep with her hair wet? Maybe she brought a blow dryer. But for as much as I practiced, at band camp I at least showered during my free time.

"Your parents must be worried; they're baby's growing up. Are they driving over on Saturday, because I'd love to brag to them about you." She looked at her feet, her trumpet put away and resting on her thighs.

"Um, no, my mom doesn't come. We don't finish the show at camp, and she has work and all." I didn't ask about her father. Not having one myself, I knew better than to pry about parents. If the information was open, then she'd say it eventually. So I just nodded.

"Yeah, my mother never actually drove me to camp, but she tried to come pick me up. My sophomore year she just couldn't swing it either." She just bit her lip and stared at the ground, then very suddenly fixed me with a dead serious gaze.

"If I can ask, what happened to your father?" I blinked, the look in her eyes so intense, yet not wanting to make me uncomfortable. After all, I barely knew the girl.

"He died in a car accident when I was seven. What happened to yours?" I could almost watch the shutters fold over the iris, pushing me out of the dark corners of her life which I had no business to be in. She stood up and shook her head a little bit, the braid moving ever so slightly. There was a short pause, before she spoke in a light layer of grief.

"He killed himself when I was twelve." My jaw didn't drop, but it took visible effort to hold it in place and not make a noise. Her flash as they meet mine, daring me to say something. The difference in her is startling.

"I'm sorry, that must have been so difficult." I can't say it was awful or sad, because it's so obvious that it was. Of course it's just as obvious that a situation like that would be difficult. There's really nothing I can say to make it better, to make past, current, and future pains go away. We both lost our fathers, but the effects were clearly different.

"It was. But if you don't mind, let's not talk about it." Her watch beeped again, indicating ten minutes until dinner. "I have to go get my sax." And she was gone, out of the room before I could say anything else.

Tuesday night was the male beauty contest. It was only for instructors and chaperones, and usually had three female judges. When I was a student, I thought it was hilarious, and according to the trumpets I now instructed, they still did. Our judges that night were the Color Guard Coach, a female chaperone, and the female drum major. Several male chaperones were contestants, along with the Batterie instructor, the trombone instructor, and (as was tradition), Mr. Edsel.

For the four years I had been there, Mr. Edsel had never won. Usually it was a new, good looking chaperone or occasionally an instructor who came away with the prize, but I was waiting for the day our 36 year old band director finally stole the show.

There was a talent portion of the contest- which could include singing, playing instrument(s), or any other wacky talent someone happened to have. Then they would walk across the stage shirtless, flexing a muscle here or there. It could get pretty silly and was always entertaining. That night, the Batterie instructor won- he had a six pack and played tenors upside down as his talent. As an award he got a laminated certificate proclaiming him most beautiful man at band camp. A chaperone and the trombone instructor were runner-ups, and you could say we had our own Mr. Band Camp coming along.

Wednesday was always the worst day of the week. Everyone was tired, we'd been working hard for two days and still had the rest of the week to go; some people were sunburned or had blisters; such-and-such hadn't slept well. The list of complaints could go on for forever, and the trumpets were a little lazy at practice. I tried not to get on them too harshly, because after all, I'd just been in their shoes and remembered all too vividly what it had been like. But the band couldn't survive with any lazy sections, so I tried to keep them motivated without making them hate me. Sectionals were difficult too- as much as I tried to keep the ball rolling, warm ups were slow, tuning was slower, the remembering what we'd rehearsed earlier in the week and working on more felt impossible. They were tired, looking forward to what felt like an eternity of rising too early and falling asleep too late, of uncomfortable beds and difficult rehearsals morning, noon, and night. We didn't accomplish much, but I couldn't force knowledge into their skulls.

Elizabeth still came, dark rings under eyes, but ready to work. She was pushing through, which is what I wish the trumpets had made themselves do. There had been a few people who had really wanted to work and get stuff done, but besides that, the apathy of the group was overwhelming. She felt fresh-tired, but willing to work, a lot like me.

That night was the talent show. It was always interesting to see, although some years it lacked variety-more singers, more musicians playing their second instrument, or something like that. This year the coordinator had promised they had some different acts and had arranged it so there wouldn't be a lot of one thing in a row. It wasn't that we didn't like singing, but seeing it five times in a row could get a little old.

Apparently, there was a sousaphone that could juggle- and not just juggle anything, he juggled knives and fire. Several people got together and made up a funny skit about the different age groups in the band; one girl could tap dance; twins did a piano duet; and of course there were singers. The judges sure had their hands full with who to crown as the winner. To my surprise, as the closing act, Elizabeth got on stage and danced.

It was a solo piece to Titanium by David Guetta. The style was ballet, but not traditional ballet- she wore point shoes, but mixed in some more modern pieces that, because I wasn't a dancer, I couldn't identify. She got some cheers at the end, did a curtsey, and closed it out. The juggler got first prize, a singer second, and the piano duet third. No one looked disappointed to not win- you don't enter the band camp talent show to win anything.

Friday made the seniors sad. No one cried (yet), but they talked about back when they were freshmen, how they felt old and about college. Names from everywhere were thrown around- UT, TTU, TSU, BU, and more. No one mentioned Tennessee's big rivals like LSU or UA. There were a few members of the band who liked them, but they were few and far between.

Just as sad as the seniors were, the freshmen were excited about surviving their first band camp. That night was the dance, a celebration of sorts, and they were getting ready to party. Instructors were required to show up, which I dreaded. My nerdy high school days had made the dance awkward and uncomfortable, and I'd always left at the first possible chance. Now I was being forced to go back, but at least I wouldn't be expected to be out among the throng- I could stand in the back with the other adults and be normal. Of course, some of the other college students went to parties on their campus', knew how to dance, and would be right along with the students. Danielle was one of them, and she was part of a huge sorority that prided itself on keeping their grades up to par and still having very active social lives. Not that people at UA didn't party, they most definitely did, but I wasn't one of them. I had my own apartment off campus by myself, and although I sometimes hosted sectionals or had friends over, I never hosted or went to parties.

At sectionals we got off on a tangent, first about the seniors leaving, then about college, then about my personal experiences at college, etc. We worked on some of the music, and they were pretty good about memorizing it, but we didn't work the whole time. Their attention spans were waning, band camp was almost over, and they were almost free. Any distractions they could lead me into, they would gladly create.

Elizabeth showed up, and we worked on her concerto. She'd made considerable improvement since Monday, but she still had a long way to go. I complimented her on her performance in the talent show, and we also started talking about what we did besides band. She taught me a little about dance, and I explained what Music Therapy was. However, even though she was in dance, she didn't like the band camp dance any more than I did. She found it just as awkward, and was a bit of a loner herself. Plus, who wanted to watch people grind in the center of the room where chaperones couldn't see anyway?

We also talked about boys. She was a junior, and although she'd gone to dances with guys as friends, they had never turned into anything more. I didn't even have that- I'd never gone on a date in high school, had gone to dances with girlfriends or groups. Even now that I was in college, I was more focused on that than anything else. Just because I was surrounded by testosterone pumped guys all the time in my section didn't mean they were the type of guy I wanted to date.

The dance was okay- they played some group dance songs like the Cupid Shuffle, some pop, rap, and other genres. Most people had fun, talking, dancing, and laughing until about 11 that night. I left earlier, around 10, so I could actually get a decent night's sleep before the performance the next day.

Saturday was when the seniors cried. The trumpets tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but a few of them shed a tear. After all, it was their last band camp with any of these people, their last chance to make memories as a member of the Jule Alair High School Band. I'd cried at my past band camp-no one cried too heavily, but usually tissues were needed. Mr. Edsel had never cried, as far as I was aware, but when he retired one day we all imagined he probably would.

He introduced us all to the parents as the students stood quietly in opening set. The trumpets chanted my name when I was announced, which made my grin a little wider as I waved. By the end of the week, most of them had accepted me, and we were all happy to see Scott in the crowd of onlookers. He was going to get mauled by us all at the end of this.

The performance was okay. Everyone had worked really hard, memorized music and practiced drill until they were exhausted. Still, though, it wasn't perfect, and that was what the rehearsals at school were for. The show wasn't done either, but it would be done and perfect before competition. Out of the three competitions we went to every year, we usually came away as champions of at least one. My senior year we'd won all three, which was a huge cause for celebration that no one would forget anytime soon.

That afternoon we all left. I was driving home to Alabama, which could take up to five hours with traffic. Tuscaloosa seemed emptier without the college kids running around everywhere. My apartment was nice to come back to after the heat of Tennessee, even though it was still hot down here. However, my bed was actually comfortable, and I was doing some extra work over the summer for some of my teachers, and would be able to continue on it now that I was back.


	4. Chapter 4

When we got back, we began work on the nursery. Since we both had jobs (we both gave music lessons) and our parents were helping out a little, it wouldn't be cut and dry. I wanted it to look nice, not boring. We knew we were having a girl, and we wanted to incorporate her name in somehow. That meant we had to decide on a name, though, which also took some time. After our homework was done we'd sit on the couch or in the bedroom, throwing names back and forth of every shape and variety. How it sounded mattered, the spelling, and of course what it meant. Everything had to be perfect.

After a couple weeks, we decided on the name Emily. It was pretty but modern, easy to spell, and meant 'to strive or excel'. Her middle name would be Aria, a type of Italian opera, and she would take Joshua's last name.

By the time the nursery was finally completed in shades of purple and white, I felt ready to pop. My mother had come in June and was planning to stay until Emily arrived; helping me put the finishing touches on baby shopping. Bach seemed to sense the approaching addition to the household, and we lavished him with attention while we still could.

It was July 19th when she finally came into the world. Of course I couldn't instruct band camp, and Joshua chose not to, as both of our families were crowded around my hospital room. I went into labor around six in the morning and finally delivered a dark haired, hazel eyed, six pounds four ounces healthy girl. As soon as I heard her cry, she was perfect. I didn't let Joshua or anyone else touch her for nearly an hour while I held her and pondered this wonderful little miracle, my darling little baby. When I did relent, the new proud father shed a few tears, as did both of our mothers and his dad. All of the liquid from my body had already been shed during the hours of labor in sweating and the tears I had shed then. Now, it was all smiles from me.

We got to bring her home the next day. Josh had returned the night before and introduced Bach to what Emily smelling like- a baby blanket he'd brought with him. Even though I was still a little apprehensive, I had faith that our dog would learn to love this new baby as much as we did. And I turned out to be right.

About a week after bringing her home, he was sleeping on the rug under the crib instead of at the foot of our bed or on the couch. Normally Staffordshire bull terriers were okay with alone time and people time, but he put unconditional love into our tiny newborn. Maybe it was the instinct to protect a defenseless creature, but either way he became her guardian.

In August my mother went back to Tennessee. We adjusted to the change, and talked about how to care for our little angel when school started. She was a well behaved little girl, who we had to wake up to feed every four hours in the night. Josh decided to take morning classes- beginning at seven, getting out at eleven. My classes would be in the afternoon and evening, beginning at noon and lasting until five. Someone would always be home, we'd both be home at night, and the schedule wasn't too rigorous.

It was the week Jule Alair High School would be going back when Chris called me. It was about eight in the morning, and our classes hadn't started yet. I was groggy from being up feeding Emily, but he didn't call just to chat, not at that hour of the morning.

My quick burst of sobs awoke Josh almost instantly. The phone had fallen into the sheets, prompting Chris to hang up. I had heard all I needed to hear anyway- there had been a car accident late the previous night, involving five high schoolers, two in the band, three not. Another teenager, from Jule Alair like the others, had been texting on her way home and had run through a stop sign. She'd had her foot on the gas, not realizing she was going nearly 65 in a 30 mph zone. She'd crashed into a car containing four other teenagers, killing the driver and front side passenger. The driver was not in the band, one of the two critically hurt back seat passengers were. The front side passenger was Elizabeth Florian, who had died upon impact. Her funeral was to be Thursday.

I drove up that same day, packing my little family up with me. Emily would have her first time alone with grandma, and we would attend the funeral three days later. My mother had a guest room and had never converted my old bedroom into anything, so we stayed there. She offered my condolences, and while I considered visiting her mother to extend my own, it felt out of place. I'd never met her mother, and the woman probably didn't know I existed. But to lose a husband and then a child must seem an unmerciful act of fate. Still, though, I didn't see Chris or Mrs. Florian until the family time the evening before the funeral.

The line reached the door at the funeral home. I waited dutifully in it, Joshua and me silent, side by side. When we reached the front, I finally came face to face with Elizabeth's mother, who told me to call her Linda.

"You're the trumpet girl she talked about." I hugged her lightly. So she had mentioned me.

"Yes ma'am, I'm Megan Arvin. I'm so sorry about Elizabeth." She only nodded, my words only adding to the number of times she had heard that very same thing.

"She thought very highly of you." I nodded. "She had said she wanted to be like you- have a man, be successful. You were everything she aspired to be." Both of us got chocked up then, and with a grasp of her hand I stepped out of line.

There was a photo montage to her life, playing opposite the closed mahogany casket. It was startling to think that there was actually a person in there, an actual human being whom I'd known and cared for, who I would never hear from again. I watched the pictures scroll by the screen, starting with her birth, ending with a photo taken the very day of her death. It included all four girls, smiling gleefully in their last bit of summer, not realizing that this happy day was to be their last for two of them. The other two were still in the hospital, expected to survive, but mourning.

The funeral the next day was scheduled for two in the afternoon. I wore a black dress and Joshua wore a black shirt, and we made our way to St. Augusts. Elizabeth was a staunch Catholic, inherited from her father's Irish roots. Her parents had been married there, and it was the same place they'd held Mr. Florian's funeral. Now she was back again for her daughters.

The church was lovely- the whole place was made of stone with stained glass windows. The bells pealed sixteen times, her seventeenth birthday in September. It turned out the line from the evening before only grew longer, and it stretched out the door as we came in. Everyone was dressed the same as we were- dark, bleak colors. A few of her friends wore her favourite colour, purple, a tribute of sorts.

There were only two speakers- her best friend Jessica and Chris Edsel. Another group of her friends did the music. The band: myself and the other instructors and chaperones, plus the students (obviously) sat together in a reserved section to the side. Jessica spoke first.

"Elizabeth Florian was a name you heard around school a lot. She was the kindest, most selfless person you could ever meet, and she wanted to be friends with everyone. Her greatest passions in life were helping people and music. Elizabeth would listen to absolutely anyone who had a problem, and she always tried to help. She gave them her time, the most valuable thing someone cane give. Most of the people who came to her were in the band, and music was her second language. She spoke is beautifully.

"It's going to be so difficult to move on in life knowing she won't get to do all of this. She won't go to college, get married, nor have children. But I know she would want us to be happy and live life to the fullest. So remember not to take any day or any one for granted- I certainly don't anymore, and Elizabeth never did. Stop to smell the roses, offer a smile, and help the new kid. It's what she would have done.

"Her favourite saint was St. Zita, patron of domestic servants. Zita gave food and clothes to the poor, and probably listened to their woes toe. Elizabeth liked Zita so much because she said she wanted to try and be a servant of the Lord, plus she took her time to care for everyone. They were very much alike.

"Elizabeth isn't really gone-she's looking down on all of us, happy. She'll live on in our memories, what we tell our friends and children, and what they tell their friends and children. To me, she never really will die, just be somewhere else, waiting for us all to join her with that incandescent smile of hers." After that I was glad I had brought tissues. Chris dabbed at his eyes too, and went to speak next.

"Elizabeth went beyond that of a normal student. She was always in the band room, asking how she could help or what project I had next. She always had a smile on her face, which is something teachers need a lot. She was positive, uplifting, loved people, loved life, and especially loved music. There were things in her that myself and others learned from and admired. If you ever needed something, you went to her and she would either give it to you or if she didn't have it, find it. She wasn't the smartest girl in the world, but she was probably the best at finding the silver lining.

"Now she's up in heaven with her loved ones, at peace with everything. Maybe she's an angel, but at the very least God has gained an excellent musician. She'll be missed dearly, but she wouldn't want us to grieve. Instead she would tell us to make a positive difference in the world, to smile at a stranger, to laugh more often, and to lend a helping hand.

"One of her best habits was helping make the worst days just a little bit better. If you had a bad day, and she could always detect that somehow, she went out of her way to help. A compliment, a note, an extra talk, something to brighten your day that made you feel important. She looked for the best in people, even when they were at their worst.

"She thought if she gave love and kindness, then it could only come back to her, and she was right. People her age, younger, and older all respected, loved her, and should she ever have a bad day, which was rare, they tried to help her too. Of course we weren't that great at helping her, because she was the one who was always helping us. But I hope she knows that we tried, and that we loved her as much if not more than she loved us.

"We really did all love her, even though some of us never told her. She would find all of us sitting here today quite ironic, I think. She never really thought people loved her that much, at least in the moment. Her thinking was more that it would be a gift that would be restored from years of giving love that it would trickle back to her. But here we all sit today in one large outpouring of love and grief for a girl that some of you were best friends with and some of you never even spoke her. But I think she'd be grateful for all of you, because that meant that her influence outstretched her.

I hope we all remember Elizabeth's life and the legacy she's going to leave behind. She will be sorely missed, but the school and band are a family, and we will pull together and survive. That's what she would have wanted."

The band had never withstood such tragedy before. Our town wasn't tiny, but it wasn't huge either- we were middle sized, and therefore, not much happened. Of course there were still fires, murders, etc. But that was the horrors of the adult world, not day to day life of students. The golden glasses had been snatched unexpectedly from their eyes, and now the world was in sad colors of blues and grays.

We went back to Alabama the next day. I hardly let Emily go when we got home, thinking about how quickly every happy thing could be taken away so violently. Motherhood changed my perspective on things, and fatherhood had changed Josh just as much. We wanted the best for our daughter; we wanted to protect her from all the cruel, sad things life's cards could throw at her. Of course we knew we couldn't, but as parents, it was our protective instinct. And part of us still wanted her to stay a precious little baby forever.


	5. Chapter 5

School started about a week later. I missed going to band camp, but the afternoons didn't feel empty with my baby girl and classes taking up all my time. Dr. Ozzello smiled politely at me, but you could see the disappointment in his eyes. I was the prodigy that had gotten pregnant and turned into a disappointment. Not a massive disappointment- I was still in school, still in band, just not in the marching band.

Emily grew up as our life continued. Each month was a new surprise, a new joy to be discovered. She could support her head, discovered her feet, and all sorts of other adorable things. In my eyes, she could do almost no wrong. Whether it was waking up in the middle of night to change her, carrying her around the room when she cried, or just letting her lay on my chest while she slept. Joshua put himself whole heartedly into fatherhood too. We had a schedule so we would both get enough sleep at night, but during the day it was almost like we were both fighting to hold her. If I was doing work, he held her, and vice versa. She became the sun of our solar system.

At first I didn't think about Elizabeth. Then I began half-convincing myself that she wasn't on Facebook because school had just started and she was busy. But it had to hit me eventually that she never would be back online, that I never would see her again. Part of me was angrey with the driver, but I also knew it was accident.

The only in-person contact I'd ever had with her was at band camp. Just band camp, and yet we had become friends, despite the age difference and living in two states. In the last few months I'd taken a sister liking to her- wanting the best for her, to protect her, things like that. And with a big reality check came the fact that I couldn't protect everyone I cared for from everything in the world.

With school being back in session, it gave me plenty to focus on. Joshua was also a senior, which was a huge deal. It was almost time to head out into the real world, get a job, and maybe get married. We'd been talking about it lately, how nice it would be to be an "official" family. He was a wonderful family man, and I wanted to keep him while I had him.

It was that October when I got a school assignment to go to a symphony. We made a date night of it, hired a babysitter, dressed up, and went out. They sounded fabulous; it was a night of Beethoven and beauty. We completed the evening with a walk through the park, even though there was a small chill in the air. The flowers weren't in bloom anymore, but the city was lit up and the fountains were flowing to a background of light and stars.

We were in front of one of the fountains when he dropped to one knee. I covered my mouth with my hand as tears started to trickle down my cheeks, and he produced a ring. It was in a blue velveteen box and was pear shaped, and I knew instantly it would fit.

"Megan, as soon as I met you, I knew you were something special. You were beautiful, you made me laugh, and you still do to this day. I always thought that a girl like you was something out of a fairy-tale, and now that you're here, I just have to get you before the rest of the world can. We've been through a lot together, and I hope we can be together for the rest of our lives." He paused and took my hand. "Megan Kirana Arvin, will you do me the honor and privilege of being my wife?" I threw myself down next to him and pressed our mouths together in answer. He stood us both up, our lips still locked. When we pulled apart for breathe, both of us smiling like fools, he slipped the ring on my finger.

It was just a little too big, but we could get it resized easily. And it did nothing to curb my joy- this was going to be one of the best days of my life! Although it would be hard to compete with the birth of Emily, getting engaged and married would probably come close.

Then he called to someone just a few feet away that they could come out of the bushes. I looked at him weird, but then a friend of his in the saxophone section came out of the bushes, holding a camera. It clicked after that- he had taken pictures of the entire event as it unfolded. We would have the pictures to show our parents and grandkids, to put in a scrapbook for the rest of our life.

Eventually we had to go home. I glowed the entire way, and when we did get back, we called our parents. I was as quiet as I could be with Emily sleeping, but Bach caught the excitement and padded around our room. While I was on the phone with my mother, Josh swung him around the room like they were dancing, singing the beat to a waltz. He called his parents too, and they were just as excited. Suddenly, our horrible sin of pre-marital sex wasn't quite so bad- at least we were doing the right thing and getting married, therefore making us a proper family both in the eyes of society and the eyes of God.

My wedding planning began, and my life threw into overdrive. On top of school and a baby, part of my evenings and weekends became devoted to my happily ever after. I chose my accent color-red, and that influenced what the bridesmaids/maid of honor wore and what flowers I picked. Joshua helped (it was his wedding too, after all), and we decided on roses, that his niece would be the flower girl and Mr. Edsel's son would be the ring bearer. The date was set for June- school would be out, but it would avoid Emily's birthday and band camp.

Elizabeth would have come to the wedding. She would have screamed with me over the phone about my engagement, been a bridesmaid, and excitedly seen my life play as she waited for hers to begin. But tragedy, fate, call it what you will, had struck, and now she was gone; gone in a horrid accident caused by an immature teenager who just couldn't wait to pick up her phone until she got home. Even though it was an accident- how many times had I looked at my phone at a stop light? But this had deadly consequences, lives were at stake, and it felt like someone had to be to blame. The only person who could be at fault was that young driver, who had broken her foot. Just a broken foot, nothing else, and yet two people were dead, two families in mourning, and so many friends forced to see the harsh reality of the world.

School slowly distracted me from my loss. I threw myself into motherhood and my grades, hardly getting on social networking sites for fear of remembering the horrid truth that Elizabeth was no longer there. Of course no one lived for forever, but that did nothing to the ache in my chest. If only she hadn't gone out that night, if only that girl hadn't been texting. Those last few moments, that last day, became if only's.

Joshua graduated in May, and his family came to see him and we all went out to dinner. By that time we'd already sent out wedding invitations, booked the church and reception hall, and hired a caterer. My bridesmaids would be three girls from school, and my maid of honor would be Danielle. They helped pick their dresses- a strapless, ruffled red with a white satin bow at the hip. Each would carry white roses while I carried red. The flowers girl's dress was precious- a frilly tulle concoction, and matched our ring bearer. Perhaps his was the most adorable outfit- a little suit with a red vest, white shirt, and red and white striped bow tie. Our own little Emily would be with my mother, wearing a lavender dress to match her grandmother. I didn't know what Joshua's mother would wear.

The ceremony was to be held at Riverwood Presbyterian Church. Josh's parents were Presbyterian, while my mother was nondenominational and somewhat slack in church attendance and Bible reading. When she received her save the date, she called about how pretty the stationary was and never voiced a complaint. The reception would be held at LINC Point, Cutting Edge Caterers would be doing the food, and the cake would be by Celebrations Bakery.

It was the matter of my dress that took the longest. My mother gave me the option of her dress, but didn't push it on me. She'd gotten married in the 80's, and the style wasn't right for me, so I declined it. Danielle, a true maid of honor, toted me around to every bridal store in Tuscaloosa. I tried on dress after dress, each different from the last. Some had an A-line skirt, a mermaid look for a different one. Some had lace detailing while another had tulle. One would be strapless, another have sleeves. The list went on forever and a day. It was March by the time we finally discovered a solution.

What was wrong with shopping online? I was hesitant at first, but warmed to the idea of infinite possibilities and no more sore feet from getting dragged around to an endless litany of stores. So Danielle began spending a few choice evenings at our apartment, both of us buried in my room with the door locked, so Josh wouldn't even have an idea of what we were looking at. After searching for still another week, we stumbled across the one. It was strapless with a corset-like top, but it didn't have ties on the back. The skirt was fine tulle that spread out slowly and made it look as if you were walking on a cloud. We ordered it immediately. When it came, I felt like a queen, and the matching veil tied everything together perfectly. Danielle kept it hidden at her place.

By the time my big day rolled around, I was excited but prepared. Josh and I had both had our bachelor/bachelorette parties the night previous. My friends had come over and we'd played games, gossiped, and had some champagne. Josh left me a message saying they'd gone to his best man's house, had some beer, talked, and played poker, blackjack, etc.

The next morning, Danielle was shaking me awake at seven in the morning. The bridesmaids were chattering in the kitchen, and I assumed my mother was with Emily. They made me eat breakfast, and then stuck me in a sundress to go and get our hair done. I'd gotten my nails done last night before the party, but hair obviously had to be done that day. Danielle got coffee on the way, and we slowly began to wake up as they styled our hair into beautiful masterpieces. Mine was pinned into an elaborate looking bun just above the nape of my neck, while the girls had theirs curled and pinned up. My mother was still at home with Emily.

Back at the apartment, dresses were put on, jewelry clipped, makeup applied, perfume sprayed, and shoes slipped on. Emily appeared, and my flower girl and ring bearer also showed up. They all looked adorable, and when I told them so the little girl blushed and the little boy kissed my cheek. It would be their first wedding, and I wanted them to enjoy themselves.

We arrived at the church, and my heart began to pound. What if I threw up, or said the wrong thing at the wrong time? My mother kissed my cheek, tears in her eyes as she fixed me up for the last time. I know she wished my father could see me, and I did too. Still, she kissed my cheek, declared me the prettiest I had ever been, and took Emily to the first pew.

Christopher Edsel would be walking me down the aisle. As soon as he saw me, his eyes widened and took me into a delicate hug, as if I was made of china. He had me twirl; surveying every inch to make sure it was all perfect. A nicer man could not have been found.

"I'm nervous Chris." He patted my hand, again trying not to break me. His wedding day had been eight years prior. Was he reminiscing?

"You don't need to be. If anything, Joshua is probably the nervous one- you just need to float down the aisle like an angel." I smiled, and heard the music begin. Tears had gathered in his eyes as he whispered a few last lines. "I'm as proud and honored as any father could be that I get to walk you down the aisle, Megan. I have no doubt your father is very happy, smiling down as his little girl ties the knot." Now my eyes misted over as we heard the cue, the congregation rose, and I became a step closer to my fairytale.

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_**Well, this is the end guys! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much I enjoyed writing it, and if you have any comments or feedback, please review. Also, I am not aware of any initiation that goes on in any college marching band, any real place mentioned is their own, and Dr. Ozzello is the only unchanged person and he belongs to himself. Hopefully you got something out of this, for entertainment purposes at the least. I love you all, go make someone's day brighter! **_


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